


Yours

by Diary



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alive Aiden & Allison Argent, Alive Tara Graeme, Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Allison Argent & Lydia Martin Friendship, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkwardness, Bechdel Test Pass, Bisexual Sheriff Stilinski, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Canon Character of Color, Canon Gay Character, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dreams, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Inspired by Music, Interspecies Romance, Late Night Conversations, Love, Minor Aiden/Lydia Martin, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Mystery Character(s), Non-Alpha Scott McCall, Non-Deputy Jordan Parrish, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Past Child Abuse, Past Ethan/Danny Mahealani (Not Minor), Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski Feels, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-18 22:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12397248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: An AU look at Noah Stilinski and Jordan Parrish's developing relationship from season 3B onward. WIP.





	1. Season 3B

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf.

Stiles says he’s staying over at Scott’s, and hopefully, he actually is. Since Melissa’s working a triple-shift, he can’t confirm it. He knows he could ask Isaac, but after everything Isaac’s gone through, unless he has to, he’s not going to put Isaac in the position of being stuck between Scott’s best friend and the town sheriff.  

Going to a bar is probably a bad idea, but he tells himself that he’s going to have two beers at most.

Pathetic as it is, if he stays at home, he’s going to end up killing a bottle of bourbon, and if he were a better man, he’d pour it down the drain, but he can’t bear the thought of doing so.

Ordering some generic beer, he considers moving to a booth not in direct sight of the large mirrors above the bar.

This kid comes over, and Noah wishes he hadn’t changed into his civilian clothes. He has his badge, but-

When the kid orders some complicated drink, and the bartender immediately accepts the money and starts to turn.

Noah sighs. “Hey. Ask for his I.D. before you get shut down.”

“It’s a European soft drink. Alcohol-free,” the bartender says.

The kid slides something in front of him, and he realises he’s looking at not only a driver’s licence but also military ID. He’s seen some really good fake IDs in his day, but as far as he knows, he’s never come across a forged CAC. Jordan Parrish, age 24, served 7 years, early honourable discharge.

Sliding it back over, he fully takes in the other man. “Sorry.”

Shrugging, a slight smile crosses his face. “If I thought someone was below the legal drinking age, I’d say something, too.” He offers his hand. “I tend to go by Parrish.”

He shakes it. “Noah.”

The bartender comes back with a bottle for Parrish.

“You didn’t need to show me.”

“I know. But there wasn’t any harm in it. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.”

Taking his drink and sitting in a booth, Parrish withdraws one of those tiny laptops. Tablets, he remembers they’re called. He’s been thinking about getting Stiles one. He knows most teenagers have one nowadays, and if, in a year or two, the department is issued them, Stiles will be able to help him learn to navigate it, and hopefully, he’ll be wise to, at least, a few of the dangers his son’s classmates and the newest generation of teenagers could potentially cause with them.

Finishing his beer, he debates ordering another.

What he really wants is Scotch, whiskey, bourbon, anything sharp and smooth, warm and heavy going down, and he doesn’t want to stop until everything is a blur he falls asleep in.

“Coffee, black,” he orders.

Get it together, Stilinski, he tells himself. You have so much to be grateful for. You have too much to lose.

McCall’s coming in tomorrow, and unfortunately, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be staying or even whether he’ll still have a job once McCall does leave. Stiles is always staying over at Scott’s, and part of him is afraid it’s because Stiles doesn’t feel he can deal with his mess of a dad.   

Werewolves and everything he once saw a classmate teased mercilessly for insisting on believing in are, in fact, real.

He doesn’t remember her name, and he has no idea what happened to her after graduation. He doesn’t remember ever actively participating in the teasing, but even if he didn’t know she was more right than even she probably knew, he knows he should have done more to stop the others. He always thought she was somewhat pathetic and really should have learned when to shut up.

Whatever happened to her, she’s probably not sitting in a bar, worrying about her kid, missing the love of her life, knowing she could end up fired soon, and trying to pretend the hot coffee is something much stronger and numbing.

The only thing he’s particularly sure of at the moment is he can’t come into his meeting with McCall drunk or even hungover, and he can’t call in sick.  

Coming back over, the kid asks, “Could I get a large bag of popcorn, please?”

“It’ll be a few minutes,” the bartender says.

“Good with me.” He sits down.

Noah knows it isn’t his business, but however old Parrish is, he doesn’t look much older than Stiles. He hopes Parrish has either eaten a proper supper or is planning on it. Popcorn and a soft drink isn’t a good substitute for an actual meal.

“So, um, feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but are you okay?”

Startled, Noah looks over.

“It’s just, you look like your coffee has personally offended you.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “No. Uh, it’s just been one of those days. Made even better by the promise tomorrow will be even worse.”

Parrish gives him a sympathetic look. “I’ve had a few days like that. Want to talk about it?”

“Thanks for the offer, but no. I’m trying my best to avoid thinking about it.”

“I understand. You were military, too?”

He nods. “Joined when I was eighteen. I was planning on doing an extension, but then,” he twists at his wedding ring, “I met the most beautiful woman in the world. Dad, her dad, made it clear he wasn’t going to give his blessing to some G.I. Joe who might come home in a body bag. He didn’t want her wasting her time and youth waiting. So, I enrolled in college and got married.”

Tentatively, Parrish inquires, “She’s not around anymore, is she?”

“No.”

The popcorn comes. “I know it’s not much, but I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

“I joined when I was seventeen. My grades were okay, but a scholarship wasn’t going to happen. My dad wasn’t sure about signing the forms, but I convinced him. Then, a few months ago, an IED blew up, and how in the hell I managed to walk away without a scratch is still something no one can answer, least of all me.”

He winces. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you did.”

A small smile crosses Parrish’s face. He pushes the popcorn over a little. “Want some?”

“No. Thanks.”

Looking down at his coffee, he realises, for the last few minutes, he hasn’t been thinking about changing it to a stronger order. For all he knows, Parrish is just being polite, but maybe, with a few more minutes of conversation, he can convince himself to leave. There’s a nearby diner he could walk to, and in an hour or two, his blood alcohol level should be at a safe level for driving.

He looks back over. “I know most of the people in Beacon Hills town. Are you new here or from some other part of the county?”

“I’m just passing through. My dad was a travelling salesman, so, I don’t really have a place to say I came from. He’s retired now, living in Florida.”

“Military brat. My mom died when- a few years ago.”

She died when Stiles was six. She didn’t like how little she got to see him, but even after he and Claudia repeatedly asked her to come live with them, she still refused to leave Elias. Back then, she was the one who always called him ‘Stiles’.

He’s not going to talk about Elias. After his mom died, Elias was content to leave them all alone, but then, shortly after Claudia died, he got a call about even more dementia striking.

Sometimes, despite himself, he feels guilty, but he put him in a nursing home near enough he can drive over when Elias finally dies but hopefully far enough away his son won’t manage to stumble in one day.

“One thing I hated about the army was my unit had issued toothpaste. We weren’t allowed to use any brand but it, and I hated it. I’d come back from every leave, trying to sneak my preferred brand in, but of course, it never worked. You’d think after I almost got court martialled I’d’ve learned, but you would be wrong.”

Noah laughs, and Parrish grins.

“Well, yours makes sense, at least. I’ve never been a movie guy. I was a teenager when we got a TV, and I never had much interest in watching it. But once I enlisted, somehow, we were always ending up near these theatres, and we were never allowed to catch a movie. Over time, I began to hate that fact.”

“I loved Westerns growing up. When I got older, I could never understand why none of the new movies or TV series coming out were. Now, I’m wondering when this vampire craze will go the way of the Westerns.”

“Sorry, kid, but vampire lore’s been around for centuries. It’s safe to say it’ll rise and wane, but it’s never going to completely fall out of public consciousness.”

The grin on Parrish’s face fades. “Not a kid. But yeah, I guess you’re right. Westerns are a product of a very specific time. And admittedly, as harmless it is for little boys to dream of being cowboys, it wasn’t particularly a good time in history for a lot of people. Mainly, I wanted to ride a horse and be able to lasso people I didn’t like.”

“I’d take dealing with a vampire over a horse any day.”

Taking a sip of his drink, Parrish asks, “Dealt with a lot of vampires, lately?”

“No, mostly werewolves. Recently, there’s been a kitsune, a werefox who’s been on the radar, and a dark druid.”

They both laugh, and it feels so good to be able to laugh at the absurdity that has recently become his life.

“Right, and what mythology do these werewolves, druid, and kitsune fit in?”

“Hell if I know. I never believed in the supernatural growing up.”

“Did you believe in God?”

Noah considers the question. “I guess I did. I do, now. But my family was the go to church for weddings and funerals only type. Maybe a cousin’s baptism on occasion. When my father-in-law was alive, I’d usually take him to church on weekends, but now, it’s pretty much the same.”

“I’m agnostic, but I do strongly believe in the supernatural,” Parrish says. “Always have.”

Noticing he’s finished his coffee, he orders an iced tea, and Parrish gets some more popcorn.

…

Somehow, he and Jordan end up talking until last call, and in this time, he discovers, yes, Jordan is young, but he’s definitely not a kid. Despite his traitorous rooting for a certain baseball team, he’s intelligent, passionate, and funny.

As they’re getting ready to leave, Jordan says, “So, uh, just tell me if I’m reading into things, but-” He pauses.

Noah studies him, and realisation hits.

He’s had some practise with letting people down easy, and he means to do it now, but instead, he finds himself-

Even after he was grown, bisexuality wasn’t a thing. There were normal men, and there were queers. If it weren’t for him knowing he truly did like girls, he probably would have killed himself when he was a teenager and found himself realising he liked a teammate more than just a buddy. As it was, he decided to utterly ignore the part that liked men and focus solely on women. It was safer, and it was who he wanted to be, a normal guy who’d someday make his kids proud in a way his father never did him.

Except, his life is already more-or-less hell. Stiles’s life has been one instance after another of his dad screwing up. The man he’s wanted to punch for years is coming in tomorrow to make the determination if he deserves his job, even though no one has ever questioned whether the federal agent who once almost put his tiny, asthmatic, completely helpless toddler into a coma deserves his.

And it’s been so long since he’s been able to have anything resembling a lengthy adult conversation not involving crime, kids, or more recently, the supernatural. Once he gets over the fact Jordan almost looks as if he could be one of Stiles’s classmates, he can appreciate Jordan is a handsome man with a nicely built body.

“You haven’t been misreading things,” he finds himself saying.

Jordan grins, but there’s still some vulnerability to it. “In that case,” he touches Noah’s hand, and Noah takes a sharp breath at how good it feels, “I’m not going to be in town for very long, and I’m not looking for anything long distance, but I’d be up for some fun.”

He sighs. “Look, I have a teenage son. He’s staying at a friend’s tonight, but I just can’t- I can’t bring someone I met in a bar home.”

“My hotel’s nearby.”

“You failed to mention you had a hotel. Tell me, is it-”

Rolling his eyes, Jordan laughs. “Is that a yes?”

He knows it’s probably a bad idea for a multitude of reasons. He hasn’t been with anyone since Claudia. He’s never had a one-night stand or even taken to the idea of casual sex in general. He has no condoms or anything else that might be necessary.

Even if it is bad, it’s unlikely to be world-ending. There’s no law against being bad at sex, he can leave whenever he wants, and he knows for a fact there’s a nearby twenty-four hour drugstore he can get condoms, at least, at.

Squeezing the hand, he answers, “Yeah.”

“Just so you know, I’m only allowed one room in my hotel. So, we aren’t going to have free run of the place.”

“Well, obviously, that changes everything,” he jokes as they walk out.

…

In the morning, he feels better than he has in a long time, and he lets himself believe that maybe everything will be fine.

Just be civil with McCall, he tells himself. Make absolutely sure Melissa and Scott, especially, don’t get caught in the middle. You’ve gone almost twenty years without punching him, so, just keep up that streak.

“Stilinski.”

“Agent McCall. We’ve moved the coffee since you were last here. Want me to show you were it is?”

“No, that’s okay. How’s, uh, Scott?”

“You’d have to talk to Melissa about that.”

Well, everything from alpha werewolves, dark druids, and jackass vigilantes with guns calling themselves hunters have tried to kill him, but at least, his dad isn’t still pushing him down stairs. Oh, and if you ever try again, Melissa’s son’s a werewolf, now. You might be the one taking a tumble, and if you think I won’t fudge evidence, then, you clearly have a better opinion of me than someone trying to take my job should have.

“How’s your son?”

“Stiles is good. Getting into trouble as always, but-” He pauses.

“Agent McCall.”

Accepting the coffee, McCall says, “Thanks, Parrish. This is Sheriff Stilinski. Sheriff, this is Jordan Parrish, an I.T. whiz kid they’ve sent along to make sure the agency’s not compromised by my end while I’m here.”

Parrish takes him in with the least subtle poker face imaginable, not that he can particularly blame him, and rubbing his temples, Noah mutters, “Oh, hell.”

Because, of course, things must get worse, he hears, “Hey, Dad.”

Turning, he groans. “What did you do now?”

Brief hurt flashes through Stiles’s eyes, but before he can try to apologise, Stiles answers, “Nothing. I have late arrival. You, however, didn’t leave me lunch money this morning.”

“Oh, crap. Right, I’m sorry.” He was going to get some money from an ATM last night and leave it on the kitchen table, but he’d forgotten all about it.

He can see Stiles wants to ask if he even came home last night, but thankfully, his son doesn’t. “Look," Noah starts, "let’s-”

“Here.”

Looking over, he sees Jordan has taken out his wallet, and before he can say anything, Jordan’s handed Stiles some money.

Stiles studies Jordan. “You’re new.” Glancing at McCall with clear disdain, he continues, “And with him, right? Dad?”

“Just take the money, kiddo, and I’ll pay Agent Parrish here back later.”

“I’m not actually an agent,” Jordan quietly says.

Grabbing Stiles, he starts to tug him away. “Hopefully, they’ll both be gone soon. Just get to school before you are a late arrival.”

“Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll try my very best.”

Stiles nods. “Bye, Dad.”

“Hey.”

Turning back, Stiles looks wary, and he wishes he could get through a five-minute interaction with his son without screwing up. He’s sure there were a few times after Claudia died that he managed it. “I love you.”

A genuine smile crosses Stiles’s face, and something inside of him relaxes.

Hugging him, Stiles replies, “I love you, too, Dad.”

Tightening the hug, he kisses Stiles’s head before letting go.

Once Stiles is gone, he manages to not beat his head against the wall. Instead, he goes back over. “Talk to your intern, McCall. I’m going to the bathroom.”

…

“I didn’t know it was you.”

Jordan apparently has the ability to sneak into a bathroom in the three seconds Noah has his eyes closed without making a sound. This is good to know.

“Look, kid, you decide how you want to handle things on your end, but fair warning: I have to tell my mayor about this.”

Scoffing, Jordan moves in front of him, and taking a step back, he ends up against the wall.

“Whether you believe me or not, don’t try to minimise me, sheriff. You never would have done everything we did last night with a kid. This isn’t a professional evaluation of you, but based on the way you were looking at your son, if someone my age, man or woman, touched him at the age he is right now, you’d probably be burying a body in the woods. So, don’t try to treat me like this inconvenient newbie who got into a situation way over his head.”

Jordan stares at him with challenging eyes, and some part of Noah desperately wishes he could see Jordan as this twenty-something kid he stupidly crossed a line with.       

But with clear memories of last night sharp in his head along with the body heat from Jordan’s close proximity and the smell of Jordan’s cologne making Noah almost desperate to kiss him, he has to acknowledge Jordan is a man, and though he did cross a line, the line wasn’t going to bed with another man. It was having sex with someone without asking a few more questions such as: _Why_ _are you passing through town? What do you do for a living?_ It was refusing Jordan’s offer to talk about his life and keeping everything about himself vague instead of saying: _I’m the sheriff of Beacon Hills, and tomorrow, this jackass FBI agent, Rafael McCall, is coming in to do an evaluation on my job performance._

“The woods are the first place we look when it comes to missing people. It’d be better just to throw any bodies in the lake, preferably during warmer weather when the mosquitoes are at their most vicious. Since it’s well-known I try to go fishing once a month, I might have a fairly solid alibi.”

A startled look crosses Jordan's face followed by a laugh.

“I didn’t know it was you, either," Noah says. "I’m truly sorry for this. I never stopped to think McCall might be bringing anyone with him, but this still probably could have been avoided. I know he’s sent me several emails, and I could have called him at any time to ask what exactly his plans were. But I never opened any of those emails or called. For all I know, your name and face is in one of them.”

Saying this aloud, he’s forced to admit McCall might be right about his unsuitability for his job.

You will handle this like a man, he insists to himself. Now, stop thinking about finding a drink.

“If you wanted, or if it would make it a little better- we could tell Agent McCall together, and then, talk to your mayor. Or we could go to the mayor, first, and then, Agent McCall.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Or at least, it’s probably not going to make any of this worse than it already is.”

…

There’s a meeting with him, the mayor, McCall, and Jordan. It’s decided Jordan didn’t do anything wrong, McCall doesn’t actually need another person on the case right now, and he- well, he didn’t do anything officially wrong.

No one else says anything to him, but he isn’t naïve enough to believe half the town or more hasn’t already gotten some idea of what’s going on.

At lunch, he goes to the station’s carport and sits on some of the steps inside.

Not ten minutes later, Jordan sits down near him. “One of your deputies told me where to find you. It’d be helpful if you could refrain from punching Agent McCall. I can see how much you want to every time you look at him.”

“Might be worth it."

Jordan shrugs. “Could we get some lunch? I know that might not be the greatest idea, but I’m hungry, and it makes sense to get a native to show me the best places to eat.”

“Plenty of other natives,” Noah says. “It would definitely be a bad idea for both of us.”

“Look,” Parrish leans against the opposite wall, “I can’t promise you much, but I won’t let Agent McCall bring up your wife.”

Noah rubs his eyes. “I’m sure your good opinion of him is justified from where you’re sitting. But from where I am, my bad one is, too. This is me saying more about him than you: I don’t think you could stop him. I wouldn’t put it past him to bring her and our marriage up. And even knowing it’d be wrong and straight out self-sabotage, there’s a very high chance I will end up punching him if he does. It’s only something I’ve wanted for almost twenty years.”

Jordan’s voice is tentative, “Could I see a picture?”

He takes the few he has in his wallet out. “Claudia. Before our son was born, I loved her more than anything and anyone in the world. I was never unfaithful. There was one time I was tempted, and I’ll admit now that I was playing with fire. But thankfully, I did manage to get a clue before I made a mistake I couldn’t take back.”

Part of him is tempted to elaborate that the temptation came in the form of another woman, but though true, it really isn’t important. He found himself wanting someone other than his wife, and he almost crossed the line, but for all his mistakes, he can be proud of not making that one.

“She was beautiful.”

“I told you that at the beginning.” He takes the pictures back. “You’re not a kid, but you are young. Go get something to eat, Jordan, and do whatever you need to, to not let this set back your career. I can look out for myself.”

He doubts he can, and worse, he has the feeling Jordan does, too.

“Why do you hate Agent McCall?”

“I don’t hate him.”

Jordan scoffs. “Fine. I’ll rephrase: Why do you have to resist the urge to punch him every time you see him? Oh, and to get this out of the way, you’re a funny guy, Noah, but it’d be nice if you gave me a straight answer instead of making a dry observation about the law or the position within it you currently hold.”

He’s a little impressed and a lot exasperated.

“I’m friends with Melissa McCall, Agent McCall’s ex-wife. She’s a nurse at the local hospital, and they have a son, Scott. In some ways, Scott’s always been a tough kid. He’s captain of the lacrosse team, now, and he’s always looked out for my boy. Well, when he wasn’t getting into Stiles’s mischief, at any rate. But he used to be severely asthmatic.”

“Four years old. That’s how old he was when I got a call from Melissa. We weren’t really friends back then, but she trusted me enough to call. McCall had been drinking, there was an argument, and her four-year-old asthmatic son had fallen down the stairs and lost consciousness for about twenty seconds. She was careful to skirt around what exactly happened, whether it was truly an accident or if her FBI husband had deliberately hurt Scott.”

“She just wanted to make sure he didn’t come to the hospital and that he was out of her house by morning. Scott was fine. The doctors said there was no damage, and he didn’t remember anything. I took them to my house, and they squished together on our couch for about a week while McCall was moving out. He and Stiles didn’t really pay attention to each other then and didn’t become friends until a few years later. But more than Stiles’s friend, I sometimes still see that tiny, brown-eyed little boy tugging at his mom’s curls and asking all these questions no kid should ever have to ask about their parents.”

Jordan makes a small sound.

Noah looks over, and Jordan gently puts his hand on Noah’s chest.

He’d seen the look in Jordan’s eyes last night, but thankfully, Jordan hadn’t asked. He knows, until now, Jordan probably assumed they were from his own time in the military, and he wasn’t going to correct a potential, unspoken misconception.

“My dad believed he had the right to hit anything and anyone who made him mad, including women and children. It usually ended badly when I tried to protect my mom, but one day, it was worse than normal. Our coffee table had a glass top.”

Giving a gentle press against the area, Jordan removes his hand. “If you die of starvation, how high on your son’s hit list am I going to be?”

“My son doesn’t have a hit list, and I’ll eat when I’m ready.”

“With all due respect, sheriff, I’m sure your son is a great kid. But I’ve been in a room with him for less than five minutes, and nothing I saw has dissuaded me from Agent McCall’s assertion he’s basically a criminal mastermind.”

“All he did was ask for lunch money,” Noah protests.

“You just want to punch Agent McCall. The way he looked at him, he wanted to do much worse.”

He knows he can’t exactly argue.

Shifting onto his knees, Jordan continues, “The best case scenario is I get to head back to San Francisco without being blacklisted from all governmental agencies. I can’t be objective about you, and in your case, I think you do trust me to a certain extent. So, believe me when I say I’m not trying to get anything for Agent McCall. I’d just really like some food, and your company would be a bonus.”

Standing, he offers his hand.

Noah lets himself be pulled up.

…

“Alright, here’s everything I’ve managed to get on that Parrish guy,” Stiles announces. “I’ll bring Scott and Derek by the station soon, and if he’s a werewolf or anything supernatural, there’s a chance-”

“Stiles.”

Stiles scoots the paper closer. “We need to know, Dad. I’m still trying to find out why he was discharged early. How common is it for an honourable discharge to be given for-”

“First, what class did you skip to get all this information?”

“None. School let out three hours ago.”

“He’s not a werewolf or a vampire or a kitsune. Look, kid, sit down, we need to talk about something else.”

Stiles does, and looking at his son- Noah couldn’t wish people with supernatural abilities didn’t exist, and he doesn’t particularly wish they just weren’t supernatural, but he outright hates Peter Hale. He wishes his son had never ended up involved in supernatural things. Scott, a fifteen-year-old boy, was attacked, and the benefits the assault brought doesn’t justify it. Going further, the trade-off for Scott’s health is someone constantly trying to kill him and, by extension, his best friend.

Now, a teenage boy is dead, and countless humans are dead. He still doesn’t understand what exactly Jackson’s role in both was or how he should view him, but it’s probably a good thing Jackson is out of Beacon Hills. Thankfully, Erica Reyes is safely living with her grandmother far away from here. Isaac, Boyd, Lydia Martin, and Allison Argent are all involved now, however, and every night, he prays no more of these kids die.

The thought his son might-

He misses the days Stiles’s mischief was confided to pestering deputies, annoying teachers, and refusing to let him have a decent meal instead of whatever overly-green food and carrots was deemed healthy enough. He misses his kid babbling about his plans to one day marry Lydia and ranting about the coach refusing to put him on the field.

Most of all, he misses when his worry about his son and the pain of knowing something could happen was at a manageable level.

“Part of what we need to talk about involves Parrish. I’m, uh, not sure how to-”

“I know you loved Mom,” Stiles quietly interrupts.

Noah looks fully at him, and giving him a sad smile, Stiles nods. “I know part of you still does and always will. I also- don’t really understand bisexuality. I always thought you could be gay or straight, and if I didn’t have a huge crush on Lydia for years, thinking that probably would have messed me up a hell of a lot, Dad. So, yeah, not sure what I am. I’m not even really sure what you are, but unless you think he’s sociopathic and was taking advantage of you for McCall’s case, you really don’t need to tell me anything else. I mean, you can, I wouldn’t mind, but you don’t have to.”

He’s not proud of it, but there are times he forgets just how extraordinary of a person his kid really is.

Slumping, he says, “Thanks, kiddo.”

“Knowing what the next question’s probably going to be: Gossip in this town is really fast, Dad. I wasn’t even trying to find out anything about who he might be into, but uh, yeah, sorry, but everyone in town or close to it knows about you and him. We could work on damage control?”

“You’re staying out of this,” he firmly orders. “That said, thank you. I am actually somewhat comforted to hear that.”

“Okay, but if he is-”

“Stiles, Jordan Parrish is a good man who just made a mistake. He’s probably going to be leaving soon.”

“If you mean being McCall’s tagalong, yeah, big mistake he should definitely try to rectify before it’s too late. If you mean you, though, don’t sell yourself short, Dad.”

…

Even knowing McCall is specifically here to try to take his job away, he’d naïvely believed McCall would be content to leave him alone outside of cases and meetings. He’d thought sitting in his office and going over the newest batch of witness statements was a safe bet.

Instead, McCall comes in without knocking. “You haven’t said much about what happened. Jordan’s been the one to do most of the talking.”

It’s good McCall closed the door before starting to talk, but to hell if he’s going to be grateful for McCall doing something even half-way decent.

“I’ve said what needed to be said.”

“Have you?”

He can’t punch McCall, he can’t drink, and if he proposed rebuilding the station to have more floors and putting his office at the very top, that would only play into McCall’s hand.

Taking off his reading glasses, he tries not to sigh. “It seems like you’re about to tell me.”

McCall sits down. “Since when do you go home with strangers? Or in this case, a hotel?”

“Explain to me how this is relevant to my job performance.”

“If it’s the reason this department is failing to close so many cases-” McCall lets the sentence hang.

“Right. I’m sorry you’re going to be without your own personal tech support for the time being. As glad as I am that Melissa is being a good mom and keeping her son away from you, as happy as I am that Scott isn’t being taken in by any of your attempts to make nice after you hurt him and his mom and left them high-and-dry, your ex-wife and son wanting nothing to do with you has nothing to do with me. No one in this town wants you here, Agent McCall, and even if you succeed in taking my job, that isn’t going to change. Now, if that’s all, I do still currently have this job, and these witness statements aren’t going to proof-read themselves.”

He knows he’s going to come to regret this speech, and part of him already does, but mostly, he simply can’t bring himself to care.

“Do you care about Jordan at all?”

The question throws him.

“I don’t particularly know him. If you seriously suspect that I knew you were bringing someone along, found out who said person was, and initiated contact with the intention of tampering with your investigation, pursue it. But I’d really appreciate it if you did it outside of my office.”

McCall stares.

He resists the urge to groan. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just wondering what he saw in you. What he continues to see in you, actually. Kid really likes you, Stilinski.”

“As he’ll be quick to tell you, he’s not a kid. He’s a young man who wanted to have some fun, made the reasonable assumption it was safe to do so, and had it spectacularly blow up in his face. What happened affects me and him more than it does anyone else.”

McCall makes a small sound. “I don’t think you’re guilty of intent to tamper. I don’t care about your lack of good opinion towards me. Over the past year or so, the homicide rate in this town has skyrocketed. The amount of cold cases has quadrupled.”

“Your son literally kidnapped a person. Him stealing a police transport van, you being able to get everyone to look the other way on that, while unfair and a clear misuse of your authority, fine. But your son dragged my son into committing a felony. He dragged him into truly hurting another person. All that could have ruined Scott’s life. His entire future. I haven’t had a drink in twelve years. I’ve sent money when Melissa let me. And unlike you, I don’t have an entire file cabinet of unsolved murders and disappearances. You want to keep acting as if my presence here isn’t something you’ve brought on yourself?”

“All I really want is to get back to these reports.”

Scoffing, McCall stands, and thankfully, leaves.

…

His strategy of not engaging would work better if he could manage to fully follow through, he knows.

He can’t dispute the points made, and in truth, for all he wishes he had no sympathy for McCall, it wasn’t too long ago he was just as horrified and helplessly angry at his own son on Scott’s behalf. He doesn’t know how he would have reacted if Stiles had only decided to steal a prison transport van; actions have consequences, and he’s never had any respect for parents with the ability to shield their kids when the kid does something truly bad who did.

At the same time, he knows himself well enough to know he would have found himself thinking that no one got hurt, that Stiles just went a little too far, that…

Instead, he’d lost all control over his kid. Stiles was showing up at crime scenes, he was lying, and when it came to the whether he was going to do something, force his son to face the consequences or, at least, completely back away and force Stiles to fend for himself, he’d done what he could to keep his son safe and otherwise ended up doing nothing. He couldn’t lose his boy, too, not after Claudia-

Now, he understands a lot more, but the knowledge his son believed he couldn’t trust his dad and had, in fact, been proven right is never going to not be there.

A knock halts the thoughts swirling around, and he looks up to see Jordan in a t-shirt.

Of course, he’d known Jordan is a handsome, well-built man. Even with how young he looks, the first was obvious from the start, and in the hotel room, he’d been made intimately aware of the latter.

He really doesn’t need to be made so obviously aware of it during a workday in the bright daylight of the police station.  

“If this is about Tara’s refereeing-”

“What? Oh, no. I saw Deputy Graeme and the others playing basketball earlier, but I just got back from a run. Could I close the door?”

“Well, that depends. Is this about my son? If he’s done something, just tell me. It was decided a long time before Agent McCall came that it’s not a good idea for my fellow government officials to discreetly inform me he’s done this or that.”

Something that might be surprise flashes through Jordan’s eyes, but he shakes his head. “It has nothing to do with Stiles.”

“In that case, go ahead.” He gestures. “And take a seat.”

Jordan does. “I’m, uh, leaving tomorrow.”

He nods. “It might have been a combination of both and neither of our faults, but I’m sorry. Whatever my personal feelings towards Agent McCall, this could have been a big opportunity for you, and I would have wanted that for you.”

Smiling slightly, Jordan fidgets in his chair. “Do you regret it? Ignoring all this, was I- was it a mistake?”

“No,” Noah honestly answers. “When I left in the morning, I felt better than I have in a long time. And even if we hadn’t had sex, all those hours talking, you don’t know how nice that was.”

As tempted as he is, he’s not going to ask if he was a mistake. The obvious answer should be ‘yes’, but based on everything he’s learned of Jordan, there’s a good chance the response will be, ‘No.’

“I’m going to ask you a favour. It’d mean a lot if you could refrain from punching Agent McCall.”

“No promises, but I have managed for almost twenty years. I think I can probably hold out for a couple more months.”

“And your son-”

“Believe me, I wish I could promise he’s not going to do anything to your Agent McCall, but while I maintain my son does not have any hit lists and that ‘criminal mastermind’ is going too far, he is extremely intelligent and does have distressingly flexible morals in certain instances.”

“He’s not mine. Agent McCall. I don’t think he’s anywhere near as bad as you do, but we’re not friends, and I didn’t specifically request to work with him.”

“Good luck with the next person you find yourself working with. I hope you go far, Jordan.”

Standing, Jordan offers his hand. “I hope everything works out for you.”

He shakes it.

…

Stiles stops by after school. “Why are you going over the filing? Is it a cold case you’ve got a lead on? Can I help-”

“The answer to that is not only no, but hell no. In this instance, however, I’m just trying to stay out of Agent McCall’s way right now. Feel like getting some dinner tonight?”

“Sounds great.”

“Go get your coat. We’ll take my car. I need to finish a few things after dinner.”

“Alright,” Stiles agrees.

He’s just finished locking up when Stiles comes back. Straightening Stiles’s collar, he starts, “How do you feel about trying that-”

Abruptly, Stiles turns. “Oh, hey, Parrish the I.T. guy. We haven’t properly met. I’m Stiles. Thanks for the lunch money, by the way.”

Bringing his entire state of psychological fitness into question, Jordan gives a genuine smile and shakes Stiles’s hand. “No problem. It’s nice to properly meet you. Take care of your dad, alright?”

“Speaking of, my dad’s making burgers tomorrow night. Want to come over for dinner?”

“No!” He takes a breath. “Stiles, you know better than to invite people over to dinner without asking first. And besides, Mister Parrish is leaving town sometime tomorrow.”

Stiles looks between them, and all he knows is his son is about to say _something_ -

“Huh. Too bad. Uh, before we go, quick questions: Are you a werewolf or any other kind of supernatural-”

He doesn’t even bother to try to keep the exasperation out of his voice, “No.”

“Well, how would you know, Dad? You failed to believe-”

“Let’s stop wasting Jordan’s time and get something to eat.”

Jordan might be a criminal mastermind himself, because, Noah knows he can read the fact Noah would really like this conversation to end, but instead- “As far as I know, I’m human. Do you believe in the supernatural? I know your dad doesn’t. But I have since I was a kid.”

“Oh, yeah, huge believer,” Stiles answers. “My best friend was bitten by a werewolf, and I’ve been in love with a banshee for years. Now, when you say, ‘As far as I know,’ what exactly does that mean?”

“Scott was bitten by an unknown animal when you dragged him out into the woods to see a dead body,” he feels compelled to say.

“I was in Afghanistan last year on a tour as an HDT. If you don’t know, that’s Hazardous Devices Technician.”

“I do,” Stiles says. “You handled IEDs?”

“Yes. I was good at it, too, until we were given faulty information, and I found myself staring down at one I’d never been trained to handle. It exploded, but,” giving a slight shrug, Jordan says, “here I am. I know your dad believes in God. I’m agnostic, but something or someone was obviously looking out for me that day. I believe there is a rational explanation, I just don’t discount the existence of supernatural or preternatural forces being able to fit within a rational framework of the universe, and I don’t automatically agree that the proof of such things existing is proof of any omnipresent, omniscient deities.”

There’s no doubt Stiles likes Jordan, now.

“Too bad we couldn’t keep you,” Stiles says. He pats Jordan's shoulder. “Take care. So, where we going, Dad?”

…

The next night, Jordan comes in just as Noah is about to leave.

“Hey, I thought you’d be gone by now. Did you forget something?”

“No. I ran into a spike strip on my way out of town. It’s police issue, but there were no squad cars around. Did someone forget to retrieve it after it was used earlier?”

“A spike strip? There shouldn’t be any- Are you sure it’s police issued?”

“I can show you. I had a feeling it hadn’t been authorised and decided to take it with me.”

…

Luckily, there’s a good chance Stiles truly isn’t responsible, and Jordan is the only person whose tires were destroyed.

Unluckily, someone got their hands on a police spike strip, and if it wasn’t Stiles, he has no idea who it might be and how they managed it.

“I’ll see about getting some more tires tomorrow. It seems like this was just a prank, and I don’t need to stick around for that.”

“Have you already called a cab?”

“No. I thought I’d just run to the hotel.”

“If you want, I have a couch, and my son’s invitation for dinner is open.”

A brief smile crosses Jordan’s face. “I don’t think your son did this. But even if he did, you don’t need to-”

“That’s not why I’m offering.”

…

As soon as they get through the door, Stiles is calling, “Dad, I didn’t have anything to do with any spike strips!”

Appearing, he pauses. “Oh, intern guy I wasn’t allowed to invite to dinner. Seriously, I was with-”

“I believe you didn’t do it, Stiles. Jordan’s having dinner with us and crashing on the couch.”

“Your bed’s more comfortable.”

He’s a bit surprised by the lack of surprise and horror at his son doing something like this. “So is yours, but neither of us is giving up our bed for a perfectly healthy man who can find somewhere else to sleep for the night if he doesn’t want the couch. Want to help me with the tomatoes?”

At Jordan’s nod, he says, “Not you. You’re a guest.”

“Aware I’m breaking the etiquette involved in that: You’re going to let him near a knife?”

“Offended,” Stiles practically squawks. “I’m offended by that. In answer to your question, though, no, he’s not. I’m not allowed to do any of the cutting. Mom sometimes let me, but Dad won’t. I wash and dry, and he does the rest.”

“Your mom had a far better ability than I do at not ending up in the position of having to explain to emergency room attendants and other medical staff that-”

“I haven’t managed to hurt myself since I was like twelve.”

Noah heads to the kitchen. “Fourteen. You had a broken jaw, two black eyes, and a three inch deep cut down your back.”

“I still maintain someone meant for that to happen.”

“You snuck into the high school locker room at three in the morning, tripped over a lacrosse stick, and then, decided you’d climb out the locker room window instead of just going back through the door.”

“Okay, but would it kill you to focus on the positive? Such as, I was right about Greenberg?”

Finishing cutting the tomatoes, he sees Jordan is standing in the doorway and watching them with a small smile.

Taking the cheese from Stiles, he asks, “Can I trust you to forgo any interrogation and entertain our guest?”

“Sure, Dad.” Going over, Stiles puts his hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Want to see our family scrapbook?”

…                                                                                                                                                 

Two days after the unauthorised spike strip, Jordan has new tires, and Noah takes him out for lunch.

Unfortunately, afterwards, he finds himself dealing with McCall.

“Have you found out anything more about the men who practically destroyed Deaton’s clinic while my son, his girlfriend, and several of their friends were there?”

“No,” he answers. “We’re still working on it.”

From what he understands, originally, Scott wanted to take everyone to his house to protect Kira from the oni and have Melissa activate the mountain ash. Boyd, however, has always been a smart kid, and he’d suggested going to Alan’s instead. Alan hadn’t been there, but the gate had been open, and they had convinced a nearby human to shut it for them.

In the end, the oni had managed to bypass the mountain ash and destroy half the clinic in the process, but the kids are all safe, and Melissa’s house is still unharmed.

“And the chances of you making more progress on this than all the other cases our two sons have inexplicably been linked to are?”

“Higher than the chances of you successfully blaming me for the fact your ex-wife and son want nothing to do with you,” he responds.

As soon as the words are out, he knows he’s just crossed a big line, but having crossed it, he lets himself continue, “Me letting your wife and son sleep on my couch didn’t turn them against you, McCall. I’ve drank more than I should in the past. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s there.”

“On the other hand, I never verbally abused my wife and son in public or private. I never came home stinking drunk. Stiles has been in and out of the hospital more times than I can count, but it’s never been because I raised a hand to him. Unlike you with Scott. And whatever her feelings towards you, Melissa would have respected your rights if you’d made a sincere effort to change and keep being part of Scott’s life. Maybe you did the first, but you didn’t do the second. And that’s on you, not me, not her, not Scott, and especially not my son.”

Hurt and anger flash through McCall’s eyes, but his words are calm, “None of that means you’re successful at your job.”

A deputy knocks at the door.

“That may be, but right now, I still have it, and I need to get back to it."

…

He’s just about to head home when Scott, Isaac, and Boyd appear, and one look at them tells him whatever their reason for coming, it’s not good.

…

“All units, be on the lookout for Stiles Stilinski, age 17, Caucasian, brown hair and eyes, 5’10, somewhere between 140 and 150 pounds.” He takes a deep breath. “My son is sleepwalking, possibly injured and barefoot, and wearing nothing but a t-shirt and pair of pyjama bottoms. Approach with caution.”

Looking down at his weather app, he sees it’s 40 degrees.

God, it’s dropping too fast, he helplessly thinks, and it’s too windy.

But, it’s not freezing, yet. If he’s found soon, at worse, he might have a bad cold.

Except, he knows, even if Stiles is found right now, there could be damage to his foot. His leg could be hurt. He could have hit his head or been bitten by a regular animal or ended up scratching himself on something. He could have broken bones.

Seeing the K9s have arrived, he takes a few breaths. Keep it together, Stilinski. Keep it together.

He goes out. “Scott and the others will be back with some clothes soon. Any luck with tracing his cell or jeep?”

“No, sir. If he or just his phone is in an old building with no signal, it’s possible there are natural jamming frequencies at play.” The young deputy hesitates. “The other possibility is that someone with a cell jammer has one or both.”

“Keep trying,” he orders.

Cell phones are supposed to be so damn trackable nowadays, angrily flits through his head. Every time he manages to catch the news, it seems there’s something about how privacy is becoming more-and-more a thing of the past. Parents can track their kids in so many different ways, kids can track other kids, spouses can spy on one another.

He’s always tried not to get irritated at the amount of hoops it sometimes takes to get a wire trap, a cell trace, a warrant for electronic seizure. As frustrating as it is when he knows someone deserves to be convicted or that vital evidence capable of helping an innocent is so close but so untouchable, 1984 scared the hell out of him, and coupled with the fact he knows he and other officers _can_ be wrong-

Now, though, Scott told him Stiles’s password, and he logged in to look at the GPS. When this didn’t work, a trace for Stiles’s phone was being set up before a judge could even be reached, and Judge Samson had faxed over authorisation as soon as the situation was explained.

All this, and all he’s getting is _unable to be located_ and _possibility of jamming_.

“Hey, sheriff.”

Looking over, he sees Jordan has walked in.

“I don’t know why you’re here, but if you ran into another spike strip or anything else, I’m sorry, please, talk to someone else. There’s,” he gestures around, “someone who can take your statement, I’m sure.”

“Sheriff!”

Seeing Scott and the others, he sighs.

Handing him a t-shirt, a pair of shoes, and Stiles’s special pillow, Isaac gently tells him, “The pillow’s scent isn’t very strong, but the shirt and shoes are.”

“Thank you.” Kneeling down, he sets the pillow on the desk and holds out the other three for the K9s. As they come over to sniff, he tells their human partners, “Hit all the marked buildings, first. Keep them in the squad cars as much as possible, but have a window rolled down, too.”

Widow Addy knits hats and sweaters for soldiers serving overseas, and at one point, she’d suggested she could make sweaters for the K9 unit, too. This had been politely vetoed, and he’d been vaguely relieved at the time.

Now, he wishes he’d urged everyone to vote in favour. Who cares if they ran around in hot pink sweaters with cutesy proverbs under their vests? At least, the chances of him possibly being responsible for them getting sick from the cold would be greatly reduced.

Standing up, he tenses when Jordan grabs his arm, but Jordan’s eyes are soft and concerned. “Hey, I came back, because, suddenly, every squad car was heading home, and I couldn’t get my scanner to work. What’s going on? Is someone missing?”

“Stiles is or was sleepwalking, but we don’t know where. He called Scott. He might have a hurt foot. It’s going to be down in the twenties or even colder tonight.”

“Sleepwalking? I didn’t know he-”                                

“Neither did I! He’s never done this before. Or at least, I don’t think he ever has.”

All the times he’s found out Stiles snuck out come crashing through him. What if Stiles had ended up out of bed, unaware how he got some place, and decided it was better to let everyone believe he’d willingly snuck out than to tell his dad-

“Okay.” The feeling of Jordan’s hand on the back of his neck makes him realise he’s shaking. “Noah, look at me.”

Green eyes and the warm, strong hand resting gently on the back of his neck settle most of his scattered thoughts. He’s still terrified, but his headache and the strain behind his eyes are lessening to the point he realises other things he didn’t notice, the nausea in his stomach, the cramp in his back, his tired feet, are also somewhat decreasing.

“Good,” Jordan softly says. “Now, let’s sit down. Walk me through everything.”

…

He can only imagine how everything must look from Jordan’s eyes.

It doesn’t matter. His son is safe here in the hospital. He’s not sure how, yet, but he’ll find a way to pay for the private room. Isaac had brought one of Stiles’s blankets to go along with his special pillow, and despite the constant cool temperature of the hospital, Stiles is safe from the freezing winds outside. Security will make sure Stiles stays put.

Seeing Melissa, Scott, Lydia, and McCall all huddled together in the waiting room, he goes over. Isaac’s taken Boyd home, and he’s not sure where Jordan is.

A large part of him hopes Jordan has decided to get the hell out of this crazy town and away from the man who, unintentionally or not, keeps derailing Jordan’s attempts at career building while the getting is good.

After giving them assurances, he turns to McCall. “Thank you.”

“It was him mentioning the smell. One of my cases involved repellent being sprayed in a coyote den to keep other animals out, and I remembered seeing that, a few months ago, your department did the same thing for a case. I know from experience the repellent can last for a long time. It’s just a good thing he mentioned it over the phone.”

He’ll give it to McCall: the man’s always been one hell of an investigator.

He just hopes his own animosity towards him didn’t lead to McCall having to jump through hoops to get a look at the transcript of Stiles’s call and the cases.

“No, it was more than that. Thank you.”

“It was a lucky connection.”

Noah will finally admit, his constant desire to punch Agent McCall might be out-of-control. The fact he’s never acted on it doesn’t make the fact he wants to do it immediately after McCall helped save his son’s life okay.

“McCall, can you shut up, please, and accept my sincerest gratitude?”

“Accepted.” McCall offers his hand.

He shakes it.

…

“Sir, we’ve got a trace on Stiles’s phone, and it’s picking up the signal just fine in all these spots.”

Staring, for a brief moment, Noah wonders where he is and what’s happening. Surely, he didn’t imagine Stiles being-

“Stiles is still in the hospital,” Tara hurriedly assures him. She sets down the map. “I thought you knew. McCall’s Parrish took Stiles’s cell phone and modified it. He also modified some of our equipment. He took it back to the coyote den, and then, he went down the map of all the buildings we were searching earlier.”

Sighing, he rubs his eyes. “Thanks, deputy. Is he here?”

“The answer is no, but if you want a more detailed answer, he did all this mostly on impulse. Now, he’s not sure if being around you is a good idea. He did take and tinker with the phone of the sheriff’s teenage son without permission. He seemed less concerned about doing the same to our equipment. Will you be talking to him about that, sir?”

“Yeah,” he promises. “Thanks, Tara.”

“I’ll make sure Stiles doesn’t use this as an excuse to fall behind in math.”

He laughs. “Just be sure you get some sleep in between work and visiting him.”

…

Shutting the door, Jordan says, “I know you sleep. General consensus around here, however, is that you don’t sleep anywhere near enough.”

“I’m fine.”

Sitting on the desk, Jordan gives him a look. “Noah, your son is fine. Outside of hospital security, he’s got everyone from Nurse McCall to Deputy Graeme looking out for him. And yes, I’m aware how rude this is going to come across, but can I sleep at your place tonight? The only place that’ll probably let me check in this late is that seedy motel halfway across town.”

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if it weren’t for the fact you’re clearly trying to force me to go home.”

“But not take your job,” Jordan says. “In complete honesty, I would hate to be in your position, and I’d probably handle it a lot worse than you are. That doesn’t mean you’re handling it all that well yourself. I’m trying to stay out of what’s going on with Agent McCall’s investigation. When it comes to you personally- you need to get some sleep, Noah. You need to have a decent meal after you do. You can only go so long neglecting the necessities that you start giving him a legitimate reason to push for you to be relieved.”

He realises he’s starting to smell himself.

Concentrating, he recalls the last time he took a shower was yesterday morning.

“Okay.”

…

In the bedroom, Jordan reaches over. “Here’s the deal: I wouldn’t hit on someone who’s going through what you are, and I sure as hell wouldn’t take advantage of a parent’s fragile emotional state for sex.”

Sighing at the feeling of his belt being taken off, he accepts his gun. Unloading it and locking it in his safe, he comments, “I’m not sure how I feel about the term ‘fragile’.”

“Really? I’d say it fits pretty well. What would you use if it were another parent?”

It'd help his fragile emotional state if he could stop liking Jordan so much.  “You can be pretty funny yourself.”

Sitting down on the bed, Jordan puts his hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Shoes.”

They get the shoes off, and he unbuttons his shirt. Slipping it off, he tugs his undershirt off over his head.

He was with two women before Claudia. He had a story for both of them involving his scars. With her, it took time before he became completely un-self-conscious about being completely naked or even just shirtless around her.

He’s sure, in the hotel room, he felt the familiar self-consciousness, but it seems so long ago, now. It occurs to him, Jordan’s never seen him fully with the lights on, but it doesn’t matter. He’s a fragile mess, he’ll admit in the privacy of his own head, Jordan’s a good man, and what happened was the sort of thing that’s never going to happen twice and doesn’t necessarily have to shadow all their future interactions.

“I’m going to take a shower, first.”

“Speaking of funny,” Jordan stands up, “I have this weird ability, had it all my life, where I’m really good at getting the water temperature just right for other people, but when it comes to me, the water’s almost always too cold or too warm. I’ll go start yours.”

“What about when you shower with someone?”

He hadn’t stopped to think how this would come out before he said it.

“Maybe, someday, I’ll find out. I’ve taken plenty of showers with nearby people showering, the army, of course, my senior year of high school, but aside from when I was a little kid taking baths with some cousins, I’ve never showered or shared a with bath anyone. One of their parents always drew the bath, then.”

Noah chuckles.

Watching Jordan head to the bathroom, he hopes Jordan does find someone and find out what his opinion on shower sex and showering and sharing a bath with another person is. Most twenty-four-year-olds don’t see themselves as young, but they truly are. Hopefully, Jordan will soon find a man or woman he’ll really like, who will recognise how great he is, and they’ll be able to experience all sorts of wonderful things together.

He hopes to God, if Jordan does, when Jordan is his age, that other person is still around and healthy and happy. He hopes Jordan will get to grow old with the person he’s chosen and never have to live long, if at all, with that person being taken away.

Finishing undressing, he wishes he could stop feeling so helpless.

…

Jordan’s right: The temperature’s perfect.

He wonders who and what the circumstances were for Jordan preparing showers or baths for other people.

After getting out, he’s handed a plate with egg in toast and a bottle of orange juice.

“I learned basic cooking in the army, but usually, I stick to takeout and TV dinners. I know I’ll regret it one of these days, but-” Jordan shrugs. “It’s not good to go to bed on an empty stomach.”

“Thank you.” He sits on the couch. “After Claudia died, I planned on learning how to cook, and I managed a few things. But best of intentions- Stiles got most of his home-cooked meals from friends. He’d drag Scott along when he could. Melissa never has the time or energy to cook, either. The rest of the time, he’s stuck with TV dinners and takeout, too.”

“Hey. I’m not just saying this to make you feel better: You’re a great father. Sleepwalking could happen to anyone.”

He leans back. “You don’t know how many times he’s been in the hospital.”

“Actually, I do. Or I know how many times McCall knows about. You don’t have to tell me you’ve never hit Stiles. I already know you never would.”

Closing his eyes, he shakes his head. “Recently, he told me something very important. He needed me to believe him. I didn’t, and he almost got killed. Literally killed.”

He feels Jordan’s hand on the back of his neck. “I’m never going to be a parent. I like kids, and I’m usually good with them, but I’ve never found the idea of having them appealing. So, there’s a lot of things you can safely say, ‘Shut up, you have no idea what you’re talking about,’ when it comes to that area. In this case, however: Welcome to adulthood. Any adult who’s had significant contact with kids is guilty of not listening or believing something they should. I’m sorry your son got hurt because you didn’t, but it doesn’t make you any better or worse than all the others out there. The fact it’ll probably never happen again does make you better.”

Slumping, he opens his eyes and finishes his food. “Thanks.”   

“Ready to try to get some sleep?”

“Yeah.”

…

Waking up in the middle of the night, he starts to get out of bed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.

It’s official: He’s under unofficial suicide watch.

How many times, he wonders, has Jordan slept on the floor of some buddy’s or just someone he cared about? He knows this isn’t the first; Jordan’s obviously got this down to something of an art.

He’s vaguely afraid Jordan is the type who’s drawn to people who need fixing.

Getting up, he starts to walk over, and Jordan is sitting up before he can get there.

Kneeling down, all he can muster is, “Seriously?”

Making a sleepy motion, Jordan asks, “Bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

Pulling the blankets and pillows with him, Jordan moves to sit against the wall.

…

When he gets back, he tugs Jordan up.

“I’m not worried about you hurting yourself or someone else. I am worried you’re going to go straight back to the station or dig out some paperwork here, go online and fall into a hole, that sort of thing.”

“And you couldn’t have stopped me from leaving from the couch?”

“I don’t know where your laptop or any paperwork might be. I might not hear you getting them and staying up in here from the couch.”

Hearing this only makes him feel a little better.

“How many times have you done this?”

“Slept on the floor, or slept on the floor out of worry? Two for the latter, not counting now. Countless times for the former. I could always find a classmate willing to let me and my sleeping bag inhabit their floor, and I was in Boy Scouts for a few years. I always loved it when we went camping.”

The idea McCall might have been one of those times- Don’t even go there, he tells himself.

He’s not even sure where such a thought might lead.

Tossing the pillow on the bed, he kicks the blankets near the closet. “Bed’s big enough for two.”

“I’m not sure-” Jordan trails off.

“You’re right that we both need sleep. Even if I felt the urge for sex, which I don’t, I know I wouldn’t likely be able to follow through. If the line of appropriateness can include you sleeping on my floor, it can include two people sharing a bed for non-sexual purposes.”

Nodding, Jordan sits down.

Lying down, Noah feels Jordan following suit.

What in the hell are you doing, goes through his head.

A few years ago, feral dogs were terrorising Melissa’s neighbourhood. He’d had her and Scott stay over for a few days until the last of the dogs had been removed and taken the couch. Aside from this, no one but him, Claudia, and Stiles have ever slept in this bed.

Claudia is gone, but-

He’s never thought she’d mind those few nights Melissa slept in it, but he can’t help but feel guilty at having another person, a person he’s had sex with, in it with him.

Despite all these thoughts and feelings, he quickly finds himself falling asleep.

…

In the morning, he wakes up to find he’s rolled over and now has an arm curled around Jordan’s chest.

Carefully removing it, he sits up.

“Morning,” Jordan’s sleep-roughened voice greets, and he makes the mistake of looking over.

The urge to kiss him is almost overwhelmingly strong, but he shoves it down.

…

“Hey, Dad.”

He kisses Stiles’s head. “Hey, kiddo. How ya doing?”

“I heard Parrish managed to get you to go home last night. Let me guess, he took the couch again?”

Sitting down in a nearby chair, he says, “Look, Stiles. Um, Melissa and I have been talking, and-”

“I know,” Stiles interrupts. “You think it might be frontotemporal dementia. Like Mom.”

He feels his heart breaking at the sight of his son covering his eyes.

“It’d make sense. It’s either that, or I swear to God, no joke or exaggeration about it, Dad, something’s possessing me. I thought I could figure it out, but I can’t. I couldn’t read, and then, I couldn’t sleep, and now, strange things are happening, and I ended up in a coyote den that I thought was a building with this wrapped figure trying to possess me. Or possessing me. Or- I don’t know.”

Getting up, he eases down onto the bed and pulls Stiles against him.

Stiles more-or-less melts into him.

He doesn’t bother asking why Stiles didn’t tell him all this before. He knows now isn’t the time to blame himself for not doing more about what he did know.

“We’re going to figure this out, baby boy,” he promises. “I can’t tell you how right now, but I’m not letting you go. Okay?”

Stiles nods.

Leaning back a little, he continues, “Hey, I’m serious. As much as your mom would be happy to see you, we agreed I’d have custody for now, and if that agreement’s broken, she’ll be the one haunting me.”

Laughing, a genuine smile crosses Stiles’s face. “Thanks, Dad.”

…

This whole damn town is cursed.

“We’ll find him,” Melissa quietly says. “Again. Sorry. Look, why don’t…”

An MRI of his son’s brain looked exactly like Claudia’s.

Something attacked the hospital, and now, his son has disappeared yet again.

Isaac is lying convulsing and burned in a hospital bed.

There are two people dead outside, and if not for Isaac, Allison would make three.

“Excuse me,” Jordan’s voice cuts in. “I need to talk to the sheriff in private.”

He’s dragged away.

“I left Stiles’s cell phone at your house. I don’t know if that matters, if he’d try to find it-”

“We need to get to my house,” he says.

…

He can’t say why, but he locks Stiles’s phone in the station’s evidence room.

On the third day of his son being missing, he realises, “What are you still doing here? You aren’t going to have a job if you-”

“My army bonus is enough to last me for a little while longer.”

“You aren’t going to have a career-”

“I’m working on that, too.” Jordan snags his last curly fry. “An FBI buddy of mine needed help and got me cleared. Since her, I’ve done some more work for the agency, but I’m never going to join them. I did seriously consider law enforcement, but- Anyway-”

“No,” he says. “Let’s talk about you some. It’ll help get my mind off everything for a few minutes, at least.”

“I told you I was in Boy Scouts? Well, I was also in JROTC. I joined the army at seventeen. I never had any real structure at home, so, I tried to find it in other places. But then, after that IED-” He pauses. “I guess I’m just trying to see what life is like without so much of it. It’s easy to be who you are when everyone’s telling you who that person is. Or it was easy for me, at least.”

There’s a knock, and Tara leads a man in. “Printer cartilages and backup generators, sir.” She glances at Jordan. “That will not be touched by-”

Signing for the package, he interrupts, “No duelling at dawn, you two.”

Amusingly, they both look slightly disappointed.

“It’s not dawn right now,” Tara supplies.

Jordan nods. “But watch, he’ll amend that to ‘no duelling while on duty’ and ‘attacking one of my deputies when you’re not also a deputy constitutes assault of an officer’.”

“He’ll also add, ‘There’s no way you can sell “resisting arrest”, and therefore, it’s an attack on a civilian.’,” Tara says.

“Don’t forget, I have the ability to fire you,” he looks at Tara, “and,” he looks over at Jordan, “to kick you out of my station.”

Tara gives him a sympathetic smile. “How are you doing, sir?”

“Good. Soon enough, I’ll be looking the other way while you technically misuse police authority on Stiles’s teachers.”

He can’t afford to think these words might not be true.

His wife died, his job is under attack, almost everything that can go wrong has, but his son will get through whatever is going on and come back home. Stiles is not dead, Stiles is not lying hurt somewhere, Stiles will grow old and die long after Noah himself is dead. He’ll have a happy life.

This is just a bump in the road, and if anyone can go over a bump and come out relatively unharmed, it’s his kid.

His station phone rings. Picking it up, he answers, “Sheriff Stilinski speaking.”

…

Well, if there’s anything good about his son being missing, it’s definitely this.

He’s just finished getting all the kids, all the kids aside from the poor one who’s been forced into holding a _potential bomb_ , away from the buses when he notices Jordan heading to one of the police vans.

Noah grabs him. “Don’t even think about it.  We, meaning the police, wait for the bomb squad.”

Wrenching away, Jordan challenges, “Try and stop me.” He opens the trunk. “You know I’m HDT certified. The least I can do is find out if this thing’s real.” Taking off his jacket, he starts to put the vest on. “Look at all these kids, Noah. You want to waste precious minutes, putting them in danger of seeing their classmate blow up, and worse, putting him in danger of blowing up?”

Police should never do something like this. He knows the reasons why. He knows, McCall will definitely have his job if he doesn’t make every effort to stop Jordan.

He also knows, this could be the day the whole bomb squad gets stuck in a massive pile up or attacked by supernatural creatures. In instances like this, especially when kids are involved, if the police have someone they can reasonably trust, they should utilise them.

Everything points to Jordan being damn good at his job with the exploding IED being the fault of everyone receiving faulty intel rather than a mistake on Jordan’s part.

He stands back, gets his officers to give Jordan a radio, and when he looks down at Jordan standing next to the bus door, everything inside him screams, but somehow, he manages to nod.

…

Deputies are dead, but the kids at school and all the civilians who were in the station are safe.

Deputies are dead.

The station’s in shambles, and he lost good men and women today. They died in the line of duty, but they weren’t supposed to die at all, not today, not like this.

He knows Stiles would never do this.

He knows something taking over his son might have done this.

Stiles’s phone is missing from the evidence room. Tara is alive, thank God, but she’s also joining Isaac Lahey in the burns ward.

He truly is thankful McCall wasn’t at the station when this happened. Even before he saved Stiles, Noah never would have wished something like this on him.

…

For a few hours, he manages to forget about Jordan.

Now, Jordan is standing in the courthouse room he’s been given as a temporary office.

He’s been literally sleeping in Noah’s bed for days.

Something wearing his son’s face might have just committed domestic terrorism, and Jordan originally came here to assist the man who wants to take Noah’s job. It’s good McCall wasn’t hurt or worse by the bomb, but if McCall can find a way to see Stiles arrested and thrown in some maximum security facility, he’ll jump at it.      

“Stiles might have done this.”

A multitude of emotions cross Jordan’s face.

“Your son didn’t do this.”

“You do have the ability to be objective. And there’s a fair amount of evidence pointing to he did.”

“So, find a way to refute it.”

He stares, and Jordan sits down. “Okay, time to be objective. Your son, no joke about it, has the ability to be a criminal mastermind. He outright hates Agent McCall. If he were going to do something bad and there were a way to save you, he’d make sure to take it. Objective or not, how much he genuinely loves his dad is clear.”

“I’d say thank you for proving my point, but-” He shudders.

“Refute it,” Jordan repeats. “I didn’t prove anything.”

“Then, what’s the point of this conversation?”

“That if I believed Stiles Stilinski was responsible for bombing a police station, I wouldn’t care that his dad was a cop or even how much I liked his dad. I’d be talking to the FBI agent I came here with to find a way to track your son down and have him locked up. You believe it even less than I do. But you’re tired, scared, more-or-less helpless right now. The best way to stop feeling that way is to come up with a plan to deal with what might be coming.”

Getting up, he sits on the chair by the door.

Jordan brings his own chair over.

“Why- You’re sure about an awful lot of things that you shouldn’t be.”

To his surprise, Jordan scoffs.

“I’m usually good at reading people. My second year in the army, there was this guy in my unit. Everyone liked him. Everyone but me. I couldn’t pinpoint why. I told myself it was just one of those things. You’re not going to like everyone you meet, and not everyone you meet is going to like you. It doesn’t mean there’s something seriously wrong with either party.”

“Eventually, we were in this village. Despite being terrified of the Taliban, the locals hated us. None of us, including me, particularly liked them. We couldn’t drink, we couldn’t patrol in opposite-sex pairings, we couldn’t have pork, and every day, we had to listen to these people call us infidels and say horrible things about our country.”

“Then, one day, I came across this guy trying to rape a local woman. I- look, I’m not proud of myself, but I debated not saying anything. Thankfully, she’d gotten away, and part of me thought- But I said something. It didn’t do any good. Her family wouldn’t let us near her, so, it was my word against his. Everyone liked him, and I was this nineteen-year-old kid who wasn’t exactly shy about my agnosticism.”

Jordan shifts in his seat. “Afterwards, I was more-or-less quiet, but I kept as close an eye as possible on him. His next would-be target was one of our own squad members. Thankfully, he misjudged her. She was the quiet, shy type who just barely passed the physical requirements. She had broken one of his arms, sprained his wrist, and was holding his head in the latrine when people started coming in.”

“Good for her,” Noah says.

“Yeah. The thing is, though, after he was sent back here in cuffs, she came over to talk to me in private. She thanked me. She’d really liked him, and when I’d talked about that village woman, she hadn’t been sure, but because I had, she’d been a little more on-guard.”

“Aside from that, you don’t know how many IEDs were successfully handled because I listened to my instincts. That one that exploded- I knew it likely would. But something also told me that it’d be okay, that I needed to do my job instead of running. I’m sure there will be a day when listening to my instincts, especially about people, will turn out to be a bad idea, but I don’t think that day’s here yet. Your son, Stiles, is a good kid, Noah. He didn’t do this. You’re not wrong in thinking that.”

“What if-” He gathers his courage. “What if there’s something wrong with him mentally? You know about how Claudia died by now, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jordan softly answers.

“I saw a scan of his brain that looked exactly like hers.”

“Then- I’ll still help you protect him. I know that Stiles, when he’s mentally healthy, if still inclined to criminal mastermind tendencies, would never do something like this.”

“This isn’t your job.”

“I don’t know, I’ve always thought friends had a duty towards helping each other. Face it, that’s what we are.”

Finding himself laughing, he agrees, “Yeah.” He leans back. “You’re going to stick around until I go home, aren’t you?”

“Friends also let friends crash on their couch or in their bed so that they don’t have to check into a seedy motel. I get you’re the type who thinks you can rebuild the station and get everything else sorted in a ridiculously short time frame. I’ll just wait until you crash and drag you home.”

Jordan’s right: He does feel helpless.

He also knows he isn’t going to get much of anything done right now, and if he doesn’t try to get some sleep, he’ll likely end up severely sleep-deprived when he needs to be alert and ready.

…

Stiles likely isn’t sleeping. His special pillow is still in his room.

Stiles was six when he fully stopped sleeping with them. Claudia had given him a pillow her grandmother had made for her, and he’d toted it on every vacation and to every sleepover.

Sitting down next to the bed, he lets himself cry.

…

Mrs Yukimura and Chris Argent talk about an ancient Japanese spirit possessing his son, and he knows they both think killing his seventeen-year-old son is the only way to stop it.

He also knows both _would_ , if given the chance.

“We’re going to save him,” Allison Argent assures him with hard but still kind eyes.

She and Scott are just teenagers. Isaac is still lying in a hospital bed. Derek isn’t a teenager, but he can’t get a read on him, and knowing his luck, this probably means Derek is another person who thinks killing-

Lydia Martin is somehow involved in all this, and that’s just great, another teenager who’s already almost died once is involved. Hopefully, she won’t end up actually freezing to death this time or manage to run herself off a cliff in a fugue state.

In somewhat better news, he finds out Boyd is going to go live with Erica Reyes and her grandmother. As far as anyone knows, there are no hunters down there, it’s usually good when young love is given a proper chance, and Boyd is now one less person he has to worry about potentially killing his son.

He focuses on getting the station back into shape.

At times, Jordan seems more offended than anything he can’t get another trace on Stiles’s phone.

There are times Noah is tempted to tell him, ‘One area my kid’s never excelled in is computers. He’s a typical teenager, able to do things I’ll never be able to understand, but he isn’t a hacker. Either an ancient Japanese spirit has picked up some tricks over all these years, or an ancient Japanese spirit is using supernatural means to prevent the phone from being tracked.’

Instead, he deals with the fact having an attractive man he really likes in his bed every night isn’t exactly comfortable, in part because it’s _too_ nice and comfortable.

Jordan does offer to retake the couch, but he doesn’t exactly trust Jordan to not end up back on the floor.

…

He hears, “Dad?”

Waking up, he presses his hand against Jordan’s chest. “Stay.”

Getting his gun, he goes out and sees Stiles, Melissa, and Lydia.

“It’s really him,” Melissa says.

“Hey, Dad.”

Setting his gun down, he pulls his son into a hug and feels Stiles returning it.

…

For once in a long time, he doesn’t feel the urge to punch McCall.

He’s not sure how to deal with this new feeling.

“You just saved my job.”

“Probably,” is the smug reply.

He takes comfort in this. It’s unlikely McCall has been taken over by an ancient Japanese spirit or is going to turn into a killer lizard.

“Why?”

“Two reasons. One, I don’t think Sherlock Holmes could figure out half the bizarre crap happening in this town. I mean, this place is literally the Bermuda triangle of homicides, disappearances, and strange occurrences.”

Remembering the two-hour almost-duel Jordan, Tara, and Stiles had over whether some Sherlock Holmes movie was better than some TV series and whether said series was better than the books, he chuckles. “Can’t argue with that.” Putting his badge back on, he asks, “What’s number two?”

“Kicking you out of a job is not why I came back here. It was an excuse to stay.”

“You stalled the impeachment. But,” he studies him closely, “that was after Stiles went missing. I thought it was because you wanted to talk to Scott. A large part of it is, but there’s something else.”

“I’m glad Stiles is okay,” McCall says. “There’s no evidence he was responsible for the bombing, and I’ve never thought he was. As much as you hate me for it, I was around some when your wife died. If the same thing happened to your son, you wouldn’t be fit to hold this office. That’s not cruelty or an attack, it’s the simple truth. I could only give it so much time, but whatever my feelings, I have to acknowledge you have been there for my son.”

He could just let it go here, but- no, he can’t. He doesn’t have to forgive McCall. He doesn’t have to like him. He can be wary about Scott ever trusting McCall again all he wants.

But Scott is almost a man, now. He’s a smart, kind person, and with being a werewolf, he’s physically stronger than McCall, and he can survive gunshots without the same issues a human would face. He can make his own decisions.

“You did me a huge favour today. Let me do you a small one. Tell him. The next time you see him, just tell him everything.”  

Once Scott knows, he might be able to understand why his dad was never around. He might not have any trouble at all forgiving his dad for something he doesn’t even remember.

He just hopes to God that Melissa never decides to get back with McCall.

…

Stiles is out with Scott and Allison, and he and Jordan go out for a burger.

“I need to head back to San Francisco.”

“I’ll make sure there are absolutely no spike strips out.”

“Sounds like you’re eager to see me go,” Jordan neutrally comments.

“You know I’m not. I do understand you have a life that was never supposed to include me for more than a short period of time. Try to find a job you like, have fun, and hopefully, meet some great girl or nice guy you can have something special with.”

He hates the jealousy he feels at the thought, and he hopes none of it is ever made clear to anyone, least of all Jordan.

Nodding, Jordan briefly squeezes his hand. “I’ll send Stiles a present when he graduates.”

Thanks for not asking about him, he’s tempted to say.

Stiles doesn’t have frontotemporal dementia. He hasn’t done anything outside of his normal brand of crazy recently.

Jordan hasn’t asked what the running away was about. He seems content to believe the lack of evidence means Stiles wasn’t guilty of the bomb.

“Thank you. For talking to me that night in the bar.”

Jordan finishes his food. “I know you’ve never asked, but you weren’t a mistake, either. I’ll always be glad I did.”

…

Two figures watch Jordan Parrish drive out of town.

“You think Deucalion’s right?”

The other shrugs. “Maybe.”


	2. Season 4, Part 1

Waking up, Jordan exhales at the feeling of Noah’s warm, strong arm wrapped over his chest.

“Hey,” Noah yawns. Propping himself up, he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a weird dream. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“It’s okay.” Lying back down, Noah kisses his cheek. “I hope you’ll stay permanently this time.”

Noah feels so good against him, he’s tempted to slide down underneath the covers, but something niggles in his mind. “This is going to sound weird, but when did I get here? And why did I come back?”

He can feel Noah shrug. “Stiles is meeting with Derek Hale soon. Think you can look out for him?”

“Of course,” he answers. “Derek Hale- that name sounds familiar.”

“You met when you were here before.”

There’s a creak at the door.

“Can you check on that for me?”

“Sure.” Sitting up, he kisses Noah’s forehead.

Getting out of bed, he goes to the door, steps through it, and ends up in the woods. “This isn’t-”

In the moonlight, he sees a woman wearing a chador. “Yashfa?”

She turns.

“Peace be upon you and your family,” he greets in Dari. When she inclines her head, he continues, “What are you doing here?”

She motions for him to follow, and they stop when they get to a tree stump.

Peering down, he kneels. “This used to be like the one in your village, didn’t it?”

A touch on his shoulder makes him jerk.

Standing up, he looks at her. “What’s going on?”

Following her eyes, he sees a familiar looking redhead girl standing naked. Taking off Noah’s police jacket, he briefly pauses before approaching her with it. “Miss? Are you okay?”

“You need to protect her, Soldier Parrish, like you did me.”

Putting the jacket on the girl, he turns back to Yashfa. “Since when do you speak English? And I didn’t protect you. You- you know what, I’m still not sure what in the hell that was all about.”

“The hells aren’t such a fearful place for all." She goes over to the girl. “Protect her, and she’ll protect him.”

“Who?”

“Yours.”

Jordan wakes up, and he’s all alone in his San Francisco apartment.

… 

In the park, Stiles looks up from his laptop with a glare. “Remember that conversation we had about me shoving an unpleasant combination of mistletoe-”

Ethan sits down. “I’m not here to cause you or any of the others any trouble. In fact, I could help you.”

“Okay, for your sake, that had better be a threat, and if it is a threat, for your sake, it’d better not be. ‘Cause, there’s absolutely nothing funny or remotely plausible about-”

“You’re afraid something is killing people like me, supernatural people, but your dad won’t let you in on any of the cases. Scott isn’t interested, you don’t trust Allison, and Lydia is both Allison’s best friend and dating my brother. You want to know if the people dying were supernatural? Get me near one of the bodies, and I can probably tell you. If something also supernatural killed them, I might be able to tell you that, too.”

“Never mind your motivation, what would be my motivation for being so stupid and reckless to trust you to not viciously kill me if I go anywhere alone with you?”

“I thought you were going to shove-”

“You obviously know I have nothing on me right now.”

“Look,” Ethan sighs. “What about Kira? Scott’s not interested, meaning she’s not likely to tell him. And do you really think she’s going to call up his ex-girlfriend or his ex-girlfriend’s best friend to tell them about this?”

“No, but she kind of thinks I’m creepy. I’d really hope she’d think the same about you and your brother, but apparently, she doesn’t.”

“Kira loves the creepy,” Ethan points out. “She doesn’t trust or particularly like me, because, I kidnapped two teenagers and almost tried to kill her boyfriend a few times.”

“She loves- What?”

“You haven’t noticed how she’s always listening to audio posts of creepypastas and reading super-disturbing comic books?”

“Uh, no,” Stiles admits. “I should probably pay more attention to the girl who majorly helped save me from the Nogitsune.”

“Not sure she really did all that much, but I am sure, if I tried to do anything to you, she has a sword, she’s a shifter like me, and she’d really, really object to something else happening to her boyfriend’s best friend.”

“You might have a point. But, uh, answer me this: How is Kira considered a shifter? Her eyes change, and I know she has supernatural abilities, advanced healing, senses, and strength, but no claws or fangs or forehead ridges.”

“Give her time. According to Deucalion, her human dad and her parent’s decision to not tell her she was supernatural probably plays a big part. Older kitsunes can all shapeshift. Some turn into actual foxes, and some can turn into other things, too.”

“You’re still in contact with Deucalion?”

“No, he told us all this before leaving me and my brother high and dry.”

“Real sympathetic to your plight, buddy,” is Stiles’s sarcastic response.

Ethan shrugs. “If telling you my motivation will help: If something is killing supernatural people, Aiden and I need to be prepared. I trust the Argents even less than you do. Derek and Scott don’t care about us, and Lahey just might call Boyd and Reyes back down to team up with anyone who wanted me and him dead.”

“Yeah, that’s all true.” Stiles studies him. “So, why are you two staying? I mean, Danny did early graduation, right?”

“Unfortunately, Lydia didn’t do the same. Now that she’s giving him the time of the day, Aiden’s refusing to leave, and he’s always been the stronger of us. I wouldn’t last a day out there all alone.”

“I’ll call Kira,” Stiles says.

...

Bouncing in the jeep’s seat, Kira says, “I brought my sword and Allison’s crossbow.”

Stiles groans. “How much did you tell Allison about what we’re doing?”

“Nothing?” She gives them a tentative look. “Allison gave it to me after the flies and taught me how to properly use it, but I haven’t talked to her or really seen her since summer started.”

“Okay, good. So we’re clear: You do not tell Allison about any of this.”

“Stiles doesn’t want his dad to have to deal with hunters honing into his investigation unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Ethan adds. “First, we need to see if the people killed were supernatural, and we’re not going to do anything but some mostly hands-off independent investigating. If we find anything important, we’ll do an anonymous tip or have Stiles talk to his dad. If someone supernatural is killing people, though, Chris Argent might insist he needs to kill the killer, and you can guess how well that’d go down with the sheriff.”

“I understand,” Kira assures them. “I promise, I won’t tell Allison about any of this.”

“Good. Seatbelt on,” Stiles says.

He glances back Ethan, and Ethan gives him a small smile.

Huffing, Stiles starts the jeep.

…

From a tree branch, Isaac watches the Hale house being cleared away city workers.

“We brought you some more honey cake.”

Looking down, he sees Lori and Brett.

Sliding down, he greets, “Hey.”

Lori hands him a plate and thermos.

“Thanks.”

“Why’s it bother you so much,” Brett asks.

Shrugging, he sits down, and they follow suit. “Derek made some mistakes, but he did try his best. You’re lucky you have Satomi.”

“You could have her, too,” Lori says. “I know you have your own room at Scott’s, but if you came to stay with us, we could order bunk beds, and Brett and I could sleep together until they got here. You could have my bed. It’s bigger.”

“Thanks, but I, uh, don’t really go for all that pacifistic stuff. At least, I haven’t since Derek bit me. Before, it wasn’t so much a choice, as I wasn’t strong enough to do what I really wanted.”

“Your call, but be careful with that,” Brett says. “There was this annoying human punk at my school who was always throwing insults and even punches. Anything could set him off. Finally, he absolutely trashed our coach’s car. Thankfully, that was the last straw, and he’s gone, now.”

“I’m not that bad,” Isaac says. “I never have been.”

“Except when you tried-”

“That’s in the past,” Lori interjects. “He’s our friend, now, and he’s not going to hurt any of our pack.”

“Yeah,” Isaac quietly says. “I promise, I’m never going to go after you or any of Satomi’s pack again.”

Smiling, Lori squeezes his arm. “Try to stop feeling guilty. If you’d known about us and our pack motto, you wouldn’t have thought you needed to protect the people you love.”

“Lori’s right. Sorry for bring that up. Even us, we’ll fight if it’s truly a matter of defence. Another pack kidnapped your packmates, and suddenly, you found another pack practically right next door to your alpha’s burned down house. Misassumptions can happen.”

Smiling slightly, Isaac nods at them.

“Want to come over for dinner, at least,” Lori asks.

…

“I don’t need a whole new wardrobe,” Allison protests.

Dragging her through the store, Lydia responds, “Allison, sweetie. I can only get stains and dirt and blood out of your clothes so many times before, eventually, even with careful application of organic, non-biodegradable methods, the fabric starts to degrade. Or, as established with Erica, the scent of the latter sticks. I’m still appalled at her suggestion of using _that_ common, cheap, foul-smelling deterrent, and if I had any say about what her grandmother insisted on indulging her in-”

Wincing at the memory of showing up at the door of Erica’s grandmother's house, she orders, "Don't."

Thankfully, Boyd had answered, and despite refusing to let them in, he’d been surprisingly civil, given everything.

She has no doubt, if Erica had answered, Erica would have tried to kill them.

“I still don’t know how you managed to talk me into that,” she adds.

“It worked, didn’t it? We got helpful information, and her hatred level has gone down a few notches. Now, my testing of Kevlar with different fabrics has led me to believe that our best bet would be to look for some…”

…

Sighing, Noah rubs his head.

“I can stay,” McCall offers. “The sooner this is solved-”

“McCall, go have dinner with your son and his girlfriend. As much as we needed to get this solved three bodies ago, taking a few hours off to spend time with family is important.”

Scott’s been warming to his dad, and so far, McCall hasn’t done anything to make this a concern. He knows Melissa’s financial burden has lessened since McCall started settling in town.

“What about Stiles?”

“He’s coming over later. I promised him we’d do a veggie pizza.”

As much as he’d prefer hamburger or even chicken, he’s always liked plain cheese and veggie pizzas just fine. As long as it doesn’t have ranch dressing, he’s yet to come across a pizza he doesn’t like.

“Save me a slice.”

“No.”

Laughing, McCall leaves.

…

After they break in and out of the morgue, Stiles asks, “You’re sure only one of them was a werewolf?”

“The homeless guy,” Ethan answers. “Must have been an omega.”

“And nothing on the others?”

“I told you, they had distinct smells, potentially non-human, but if they weren’t, I don’t know what they were.”

Stiles groans. “And neither of you saw anything with your other eyes?”

“I saw that he was a werewolf,” Kira offers. “But, um, no, sorry, nothing on any of the others.”

“Alright, so, an omega is dead. Potential humans are being killed by something. It’s possible, then, he wasn’t involved at all.”

“Do we even know for sure the same person killed the others,” Kira asks. “They were all killed in different ways, and not in the same general time.”

“No. No, we don’t,” Stiles answers. “This- this is just a feeling.”

“So, what if something is targeting humans, but the omega was somehow involved? Omegas are dangerous. Usually crazy. But my brother and I have never killed a human. We wouldn’t risk ourselves to try to save one or stop another supernatural person from killing them, but some omegas might. Deucalion and Ennis used to be very protective of humans. A lot of werewolves are, actually. And Deucalion told me that the Hales used to be serious about protecting this town from supernatural threats.”

“Like the one he became,” Stiles acidly inquires.

“He was willing to kill that dark druid when Scott didn’t have the balls.”

“Please, don’t do this,” Kira says. “I get you two don’t like each other, and I get that there might be good reasons, on Stiles’s side at least,” she gives Ethan a vaguely apologetic look, “but we can work together and possibly stop more people from dying. That’s something I’d be really proud to be a part of. But I’m not sure we can if you two are always like this.”

“You know what? Fine. How’s this, after we get back in the jeep, we all try to be mature, rational people who try to solve any legitimate disagreements with civil conversations. But until then, I get my say, and he gets his. And if you have anything to say to either of us, it’d be a good idea not to keep it bottled up.”

“Good with me,” Ethan says.

Kira gives an uncertain nod. “Okay.”

Stiles stares at Ethan. “But he didn’t, did he? Oh, yeah, and it’s largely his fault she was even a threat in the first place. Main blame goes to Kali, but he played a part. Boo-hoo, he went blind. Humans who suffer disabilities, most of them survive, but their survival doesn’t involve becoming literal supervillains. He was still a werewolf, still an alpha. Even if his pack turned on him, he should have stopped at killing them.”

“I still don’t get how or even why Scott convinced her to heal him, but after everything he did, he didn’t deserve that. And let’s not forget, none of us have any idea where in the hell she might be, because, after getting his sight back, he didn’t kill her. She got away.”

“Scott is brave,” he continues, “and if you try to say my best friend isn’t, I’ll commence with the shoving, buddy. Scott’s also annoyingly moral and naïvely optimistic at times. Whatever she did, he saw a weak, hurt woman nearby, and he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her further. It didn’t matter if she deserved it or not. He did the same thing he did with Deucalion. Once everyone was safe, he let her go.”

“Derek could have done something,” Ethan says.

“That, I’ll agree on. But you know what, I’d still take him over your homicidal demon wolf any day.”

“My turn, now,” Ethan asks.

Stiles crosses his arms. “Bring it.”

“Scott’s moral, naïvely optimistic nature could get him, you, or the others killed one day. And I don’t care about the rest. Deucalion helped me and Aiden out, but he would have turned on us if circumstances were right, and it was the same with us. We would have turned on him, Kali, and Ennis. That druid woman tried to kill Danny. So, if she’s dead, good, and if she isn’t and I ever come across her, I’ll kill her. I don’t care what was done to her.”

“Yeah, and that’s it, isn’t it? You and your brother are practically sociopaths. Who knows, you might turn on each other one day.”

“We might,” Ethan agrees. “I’m glad you understand that. The others don’t really. Well, aside from Reyes and Boyd. But what you don’t seem to understand is: You don’t have to trust me for me to be helpful. I’ve never killed a human. As much as I might like to kill you, I don’t have a reason to, and it’d put me and my brother on the radar of everyone else. So, either let me actually be helpful, or I’ll walk home.”

“Oh, by the way,” he turns to Kira, “you were only invited, because, he didn’t trust me alone with him.”

“Uh, oh. Well, I’ll definitely protect you in any way I can,” Kira assures Stiles.

“You had a good point about the methods and time of deaths being different,” Stiles says. “Beyond potentially kicking his ass and slicing him up, we could use your help in brainstorming this.”

She beams.

“That’s all for me,” Ethan says. “Any for you?”

Kira studies them. “Look, I know I’m new. And I can be- don’t hide things from me. I can make my own decisions, and I should be able to. One of those decisions is, no matter why you called, I want to help save people and get the person or people who did to stop and be punished. And I’ll try my best to help with this. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

“In that case, Allison’s grandfather kidnapped Erica and Boyd last summer, and Allison almost killed Derek, because, Gerard, her grandfather, convinced her that Derek bit her mother. An alpha bite usually turns a human into a werewolf, and hunters have a strict code about killing themselves if they’re bit. Derek didn’t bite her, though.”

“I don’t know if it was any of the others, but Aiden and I have also never bit a human,” Ethan interjects.

“Yeah, so. All this is on top of the fact Chris Argent literally tried to kill Scott a few times, because, he couldn’t stand his daughter dating a werewolf. I like Allison, and trust me, she can totally kick ass, but I also know what it’s like to have secrets from your only parent, and how much it hurt her when she was keeping secrets from both of them. It’s just better, right now, if she and especially her dad don’t know that something supernatural might be being targeted or attacking.”

“I won’t talk to anyone but you two about this,” Kira says.

“If that’s all, we should go,” Stiles says. “But just because I’d rather you get in the jeep than walk, you’re still taking the back. Only people I like or, at least, don’t have serious objections to, get to ride up front.”

“Fine with me.”

“Would you like-” Kira starts.

“Sit up front with him. I can’t believe I’m relying on a fox, but if he suddenly comes at me with mistletoe, mountain ash, or wolfs bane, you need to stop him.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll protect you both.”

They all get into the jeep.

…

Coming into the office with the pizza, Stiles says, “Hey, Dad. I went outside today, and I even ran into Kira. We talked about Scott, and I gave her a ride.”

Noah smiles. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. Aside from the murders, how are things going on your end?”

“Good. Uh, I got an email from Tara. She’s not coming back next week. Her cousin’s kid-” He sighs. “Just isn’t getting better.” Shaking his head, he continues, “But she sent some math tutorials. I’ll email them to you.”

Stiles echoes his sigh. “I wish we could do more.”

“I know, kiddo, but unfortunately, neither of us have a medical degree, much less experience in paediatric cancers. So, uh, Kira’s still dating Scott, right? I know McCall was planning to take them to dinner tonight.”

“Yeah, don’t worry. She’s cool, but even if she were available, I wouldn’t want a girlfriend like her.”

“That’s good. For the sake of conversation, though, why not?”

“Well-”

The sound of a gun going off makes them both jump, and hauling Stiles underneath the desk, Noah readies his. “Stiles, for the love of God, stay.”

Before he can move, the door opens, and holding a bloody hand over his stomach, Rafael stumbles in. “Evidence room,” he gasps out.

Kneeling down, Noah orders, “Stiles-”

“On it. Yeah, this is the sheriff’s department. An agent was just shot. No. Dad, Agent McCall, they want to-”

“Put it on speaker,” Noah orders. “Hey.” He slaps lightly at Rafael’s cheek and winces at the left behind blood. “Stay conscious. Can you tell us what happened?”

…

Three days later, Rafael asks, “Did you see the security footage?”

“Someone disabled it.”

“Of course,” he groans. “Stilinski, I know this isn’t your fault, but how many damn times are people going to get past the steel-reinforced doors requiring key cards and specific computerised commands?”

“The FBI is sending some of your tech agents to figure out how and see if anything can be done.” Giving a sympathetic smile, Noah asks, “Can you tell me what happened?”

“A masked person, I’m not sure whether they were male or female, came in with a Glock. They shot me and headed straight for the evidence room. I couldn’t get a clear shot.”

“Hey, the important thing is you’re okay. From what we can tell, nothing was removed or tampered with, but they might have just needed to look at something. Try to describe this person for me.”

“They were about 5’8, slim build. I couldn’t make out skin or hair colour, and the eyes were green. Oh,” he moans.

“What is it?”

“I know I’m not crazy. It must have been the light or just my vision going spastic, but I thought I saw fangs suddenly appearing.”

“Fangs?”

“Yeah. They had normal teeth, and then- When they kicked my gun away and I tried to grab them, they looked down, and some of their teeth suddenly became fangs. Like I said, I know that I must have been seeing things, but it was the blood loss and pain.”

“Yeah.” Noah squeezes his arm. “I know you aren’t crazy. At least, we have height and eye colour to go on. Is there anything else?”

“Again with the crazy, but I could have sworn I heard a growl. As in, well, like a jaguar growl.”

…

Sitting outside the hospital room, Stiles quietly bangs his head back against the wall.

…

Jordan has almost got a line of code figured out when his ringing phone breaks his concentration.

Grabbing it, he demands, “What?”

“You okay,” Agent McCall asks.

Making a frustrated motion with his free hand, he takes a quiet breath. “Sorry, sir. Today hasn’t been a good day. Hi. It’s nice to hear from you.”

“What’s going on up there?”

“Just- I’ve been having this horrible feeling for several days, and I don’t know why. It’s starting to affect my work. But enough about me. Is there a particular reason you’re calling?”

“First, I’m starting with: Sheriff Stilinski and his son are both fine. Second, I wish I couldn’t top your bad feeling, but I can.”

“Why wouldn’t they- Did something happen to them? To you?”

…

Satomi looks up from her tea. “It’s been a long time, my friend.”

“It’s been a long time since we were friends. I just thought I should warn you: Another shifter is coming here soon. Not a wolf, coyote, or kitsune. Nor a wendigo or any of the lesser ones. In fact, there’s nothing typical about this one.”

She looks out the window at where Lori is watching Brett and Isaac practising lacrosse.


End file.
